


Right Place, Right Time

by Sandrene09



Series: Tumblr Prompts [10]
Category: Smosh
Genre: Angst, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-19
Updated: 2015-06-19
Packaged: 2018-04-05 02:26:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4162137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sandrene09/pseuds/Sandrene09
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>And thus starts an on-again, off-again relationship that lasts for ten years.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Right Place, Right Time

**Author's Note:**

> For abisalilshit who wanted me to write a fic based on All Time Low’s “Tidal Waves”. She deserves a million apologies because this prompt is two months old already, and as always, I probably missed what she wanted me to write by, like, a mile or twenty. Also, I don't really know how this fic became this long. I swear this was meant to be maybe 3,000 words long.

_**Seventeen (Part 1)** _

It’s morning, and Ian wakes up to the feeling that someone has been watching him for quite a while. Sleep still clinging to him, Ian slowly reaches up with one curled hand and rubs his eyes, a yawn making its way out of his mouth.

Anthony’s watching him. Ian’s aware of this. There’s no one else in the room, after all, save for that huge pink elephant in the room that neither one of them is willing to address first.

“Hey,” Ian finally says, his voice soft in the early morning light. He doesn’t look at Anthony, instead choosing to look at the white sheets covering the lower half of his body. His very much _naked_ lower half, if he’s going to be precise.

“Good morning,” Anthony says, his voice as soft as Ian’s. Ian looks up and finds Anthony’s eyes still trained on him, something complex lurking beneath the surface. There is confusion there, as well as unasked questions, but most of all, there’s fear present in those brown orbs.

Ian can relate. He doesn’t know what to do either, after all. He’s just as confused about the entire situation as Anthony is, maybe even more. Ian thinks there’s a certain kind of feeling reserved for best friends who have maybe not so unknowingly fallen into bed with one another after, apparently, years of pining on either side of said relationship.

God, when did Ian’s life turn into a television show? Ian’s only 17 years old, for fuck’s sake.

If they’re going to have their way, no one’s going to talk about this entire thing. Instead, they’re going to awkwardly change into yesterday’s clothes, say some things about not wanting this to affect their friendship, and carry on with life pretending that Anthony didn’t have his cock in Ian’s mouth last night as he lay in bed and thought of America.

(Of course, Anthony had reciprocated, giving Ian a hand job that Ian will remember for months, if not years, but that’s not the point.)

The point is, if this is dealt with the way Ian and Anthony normally deal with things, this _will never be dealt with_. Ian and Anthony are professionals at running away from responsibilities. They put the ‘pro’ in ‘procrastination’ and, well, the awkwardness in relationship talks concerning the both of them. Which they almost never have. See: _Ian and Anthony not dealing with things._

Anyway.

That’s only if they have their way though, which Ian is determined not to let happen. Sooner or later, they’re going to have to start acting like grown-ups. Yes, he’s aware of how hypocritical that makes him sound, and yes, the irony is not lost on him, but he’s serious. He knows that if they don’t talk about this, there will be a crack in their friendship which will turn into a yawning gap with every word left unsaid, and this friendship is too precious to Ian for him to let it wither and die because neither of them have the guts to fucking _talk_.

So. Ian’s going to talk.

“Uh.”

He is. He’s going to talk.

Ian swallows past the lump in his throat. “So…”

Any moment now.

“Right,” Ian says, choosing to ignore the curious look Anthony keeps giving him. “I just.”

Words. Words are good. Words are going to come out of his mouth any moment now. Bonus points will be had if he manages to be comprehensible. Hell, he’s going to give himself a thousand points if he actually completes a sentence.

_Fuck._

Wait. Fuck’s a sentence, right? It’s a one-word sentence. One-word sentences exist.

Ugh. Fuck his fucking life.

“What is it?” Anthony asks, oblivious to Ian’s ongoing mental commentary.

Ian takes a deep breath, sighing when he realizes that he doesn’t know what he’s going to say, when he realizes that he doesn’t know where he’s even supposed to begin.

Anthony’s his best friend. Talking to him should _not_ be this hard.

Ian clears his throat, closing his eyes and willing words to actually leave his mouth. “Look,” he begins, turning his head to look at Anthony’s computer to his right, his fingers absently playing with a loose thread on the blanket, “what do you want?”

When Ian finally notices the hurt look on Anthony’s face, his eyes widen and he quickly shakes his head. “That’s not what I meant,” he says, not wanting to give his best friend the idea that Ian doesn’t want this. “That’s totally not what I meant. I meant, where do you want to go with this?”

The words leave his mouth slowly, like mourners walking from the church to the cemetery. He would be slightly concerned over how he can’t seem to talk normally to his best friend right now, but as it is, he’s just kind of thankful that he even managed to talk in the first place.

Really. He deserves a medal.

“I don’t know,” Anthony confesses. Ian watches Anthony look out the window, watches Anthony visibly think about what he’s going to say. He’s probably surprised Ian took the initiative to talk about what just happened. Ian doesn’t blame him; he’s surprised as well.

Eventually, Anthony responds. “I guess…I would like to see where this goes?”

Ian nods. It’s what he wants as well. “Okay,” he says, a smile slowly appearing on his face as he thinks about what just happened, about what’s going to happen. “I’m okay with that.”

Anthony grins, relief evident in his face. Ian sees the sunlight in Anthony’s face, so open and bright and _happy_ that Ian can’t bring himself to think about the possible cons of them becoming boyfriends. He’ll save those thoughts for later, he thinks, when he’s not done basking in the warmth of Anthony’s smile.

Anthony leans forward and takes Ian’s chin in one hand, bringing him closer and closer until their lips are gently touching. At first, the kiss is chaste, soft and slow as they take the time to enjoy the feeling of having the other’s lips touch theirs, but when Ian opens his mouth in invitation, the kiss becomes filthier, tongues darting in, taking what they can take, tasting what they can taste.

For a moment, Ian allows himself to get lost in the kiss, to get lost in the feeling of Anthony being close to him in a way that Anthony has never been before, save last night. The sun is shining brightly in the sky, and sunlight is streaming in through the open window. Everything feels right, somehow, and though Ian isn’t the type to believe in such a thing, everything feels like they’re meant to be happening, like puzzle pieces falling into place.

And thus starts an on-again, off-again relationship that lasts for ten years.

_**Seventeen (Part 2)** _

They break up.

Ian tells himself it’s inevitable because come on, relationships between two immature 17-year old boys aren’t supposed to last, never mind that Ian and Anthony have been best friends for years before becoming boyfriends.

Ian sighs, one hand reaching up to put his hair into some sort of order so that it isn’t blocking his eyes.

God. They didn’t even last one year, did they?

Groaning in frustration, Ian rubs his face with two hands.

It’s not _fair_ , he thinks. Ian _knows_ he fucked up, _knows_ that he’s not the best at communication, _knows_ that he can be hidden in his shell like a tortoise for _days_ if not _weeks_ , but damn it, doesn’t he at least deserve a second chance?

(Ian gets his answer that same day, when he walks to the park and finds Anthony kissing Joanna. That’s a no, he thinks. It’s a pretty clear answer.

It shouldn’t hurt so much, but it does.)

_**Eighteen** _

Ian is 18.

18’s a special number, right? 18 is the legal age of consent. He’s an adult now, and he can vote. Those are, in his opinion, pretty fucking important things. Those are milestones. Those are things he has actually been looking forward to since he was a kid.

Well, no. Not really. He’s more looking forward to him turning 21 so he can finally drink and go to casinos, but that’s not the point.

The point is that Ian has just turned 18. He should be celebrating, should be doing something special instead of trying to cram a week’s worth of information in his head because his teacher suddenly announced that there would be a pop quiz the next day. Even if he isn’t going to be eating out with his parents or something, he should at least get the evening free.

“Hey.”

Ian looks up from his desk, surprised. He didn’t even hear Anthony open the door. “Hey back,” he says, giving Anthony his full attention, eager as he is to forget about the quiz he’s going to take the next day for even a minute.

Anthony looks nervous. Ian can see the tenseness of his shoulders and the wariness present in his eyes.

“Are you okay?” Ian asks, slowly standing up from the seat. “Dude, you don’t look okay.”

Anthony’s eyes widen, a panicked look quickly taking over his entire face. The look is gone so fast though that Ian begins to think he imagined it in the first place.

“I’m fine, I swear.”

Ian shrugs. “Okay,” he says, though he knows Anthony is lying. “What’s up?”

Anthony’s eyebrows furrow. “It’s your birthday and you’re asking me what’s up?”

Ian blinks. “Well…yeah.”

Anthony laughs in a slightly crazed way that Ian, for the life of him, can’t really describe with actual words. He looks impossibly fond. It’s a good look on him.

“Well yeah? That’s all you’re going to say?” Anthony eventually asks, his eyes wide. “That’s it?”

Ian narrows his eyes. He’s starting to worry, really. Anthony’s acting _really_ strange. “Yeah,” he says slowly, not wanting to provoke Anthony into lashing out or something. He starts to back away. “Anthony, if you’ve been taking drugs, I need to know what they a—”

“What? No!” Anthony says, shaking his head. “What the fuck, Ian?”

Ian raises his hands, placating. “Sorry! It’s just, you’re acting weird, man.”

“Sorry.” Anthony walks forward slowly, hesitantly. It’s a lot different from how he’d normally walk towards Ian. It’s a little disconcerting. “I guess, happy birthday?”

There’s a question mark. There _shouldn’t_ be a question mark.

What the fuck is happening?

Ian watches Anthony steadily make his way toward him, still unsure as to what Anthony’s getting at. “Anthony, are you sure you’re oka—”

Oh.

_Oh._

Anthony has his hands cupping Ian’s face and his lips pressed against Ian’s lips and Ian—

—Ian can’t think. Can’t move. Can’t do anything except close his eyes and return the kiss, except slowly put his hands on Anthony’s waist the way he used to during that brief time when he and Anthony were 17 and were carefully trying to navigate the waters of a relationship between two best friends. Ian kisses Anthony back, and he allows himself to think about them only a few months before, about stolen kisses in Anthony’s car when no one’s around and about fumbling under the covers in Anthony’s bedroom.

Anthony tastes like soda and cheese, like he just came from a Taco Bell, and though Ian thinks it’s kind of gross, he smiles into the kiss anyway, because he knows that he wouldn’t really have it any other way.

Because he knows that he wouldn’t really have _him_ any other way.

When they part, Ian opens his eyes to the sight of a soft smile slowly forming on Anthony’s lips and a look in his eyes that tells Ian how much Anthony wants this—wants _him_.

“That’s it? That’s my gift?” Ian asks. He’s a little breathless and a little giddy as he says this, as he meets Anthony’s eyes, as he sees the delight twinkling in Anthony’s brown orbs.

Anthony smiles and kisses him again.

Ian doesn’t think too much about it. He knows Anthony has something for him.

And even if he doesn’t, well.

This is more than enough.

_**Nineteen** _

This time, Ian is the one who breaks up with Anthony.

They’re both 19—a little too young and a little too immature and a little too unprepared for such a thing as a relationship. Anthony, in particular, is a little too concerned about how he’ll look, having a boyfriend instead of a girlfriend, especially now that their little hobby has become a source of income.

Ian doesn’t know where the sudden concern came from. After all, he and Anthony had been together for a brief period of time when they were both 17.

He can’t do anything about it anymore. He might not agree with Anthony’s opinions, but Anthony’s still his best friend. Ian will have to settle for that, he thinks, never mind that what he actually wants is what Anthony is unwilling to give.

There’s no point in staying in a relationship that’s meant to crumble. Ian is only 19, but he knows this, and he knows it well.

_**Twenty (Part 1)** _

Ian moves on.

He’s not the dramatic sort. He’s not the type of person to linger over things of the past, not the type or person to spend nights thinking about what ifs and maybes. What he is, is the type of person who stubbornly goes on with life, the type of person who digs a six foot hole in his chest and buries happy memories he no longer wants to relive in there.

…Okay, so maybe he’s _slightly_ dramatic. He doesn’t think much of it. Everyone’s allowed to be slightly dramatic at some point in their lives, he thinks.

It’s not that it doesn’t hurt, because it _does_. Sometimes, when it’s night time and Ian is under the covers of his own bed, he feels the pain so strongly that he has to bite his lip to keep whimpers from getting past his lips, knowing that Anthony’s just another room away and will hear him if he makes a sound. The ache echoes so loudly in his chest that he doesn’t know how Anthony doesn’t seem to notice that Ian is everything _but_ fine, that Ian is just barely making it.

Ian is 20 and he’s still in love with his best friend. If pain had a fan club, Ian would be president.

But anyway.

He moves on. He moves on, because there’s no point in not doing so, because Ian trusts that Anthony knows what he wants. Ian’s not the type of person to force himself into situations where he isn’t wanted, so he doesn’t try and get Anthony back.

He knows that nothing will come out of his efforts anyway.

_**Twenty (Part 2)** _

Melanie isn’t Anthony. This is the first thing that enters Ian’s mind the first time he kisses her.

It’s not a great thought. Truth be told, the thought actually leaves him kind of guilty and wanting to do anything _but_ kiss her, but he stays in place, lets his hands slowly find their way to her hips, and kisses her anyway, because that’s what he’s supposed to do.

He’s aware that he’s making everything sound like they’re chores. They’re not, honestly. Melanie is a great woman, and Ian _knows_ that he’s lucky to have her. It’s just—it’s hard trying not to compare her to Anthony. Anthony had been his first real relationship, despite the relationship failing both times they tried, and Ian is still trying to figure out how things work.

Anthony, whether Ian likes it or not, is the bar—the standard. There’s nothing Ian can do about this, because no matter what, the fact still remains that Anthony was Ian’s first in almost every sense of the word. He was Ian’s first kiss, he was Ian’s first time, and even though Ian didn’t say it out loud, he was Ian’s first love.

It isn’t fair to Melanie, really, and Ian _does_ try to stop himself from constantly comparing the two. Melanie is a great girl in her own right—she’s sharp and sarcastic, witty and kind, and she understands Ian in such a way that Ian never expected her to be capable of.

Melanie isn’t Anthony.

Ian should remember that.

_**Twenty (Part 3)** _

It’s a quiet morning.

Ian very carefully opens the door and closes it behind him softly, not wanting to wake Anthony up. He unzips his hoodie and walks to the kitchen, stopping in his tracks when he finds Anthony already awake, spooning cereal into his mouth as he looks up from his bowl.

“You’re early,” is what comes out of Ian’s mouth. It’s not what he meant to say, but he doesn’t take the words back. It’s not like he could anyway if he wanted to.

Anthony shrugs in reply. He’s still sleepy and his movements are still slow, but there’s a certain quality of clarity in his eyes, Ian thinks. If it wasn’t for the bedhead Anthony’s still sporting and the rumpled quality of his clothes, Ian would think that Anthony hadn’t slept at all.

Ian turns around and grabs a bowl from the cupboard and a spoon from the drawer, ignoring the way he’s still familiar with how Anthony looks in the morning. He’s 20 now. He has a girlfriend who can actually put up with him, has a job he actually likes, and has a house he co-owns and lives in with his best friend.

His best friend who he is, after all this time, still ridiculously attracted to.

That’s not the point, though. The point is that Ian should be grateful for what he already has, not keep on wishing for things he can’t have like a spoiled little child. He should stop looking at Anthony and cataloguing features of him as if Ian still has a right to think of him as a lover.

Ian lets a sigh make its way past his lips as he settles into his chair and reaches for the cereal box.

To think that he had been the one who broke up with Anthony and not the other way around. God, he’s pathetic.

“No run today?” Anthony asks, oblivious to Ian’s internal monologue.

Ian shakes his head, one hand shaking cereal out of the box and into his bowl. He knows Anthony knows why he’s not running this morning, but still, he answers. “I had to bring Mel to the airport.”

Anthony nods in understanding. He stares at his bowl of milk and soggy cereal, not meeting Ian’s questioning gaze. “I’m happy for you, you know. It might not seem that way, but I am.”

Ian inhales sharply, almost choking on the cereal he just spooned into his mouth. He knows where this conversation is going. He knows he’s not ready to have it with Anthony, knows that he doesn’t want to spend such a beautiful morning digging deep into the ugly wreck that is their previous relationship, knows that he would rather let his emotions eat him whole as he internalizes them than talk about them with Anthony, and yet he is powerless to resist Anthony’s gaze when he finally looks up and meets Ian’s eyes.

Powerless. He has always, _always_ been powerless to Anthony. It should concern him, and it does, but not as much as he thinks it should.

“Uhm.” Ian blinks, biting his lip. He opens his mouth, willing words to appear, but they don’t, and so he closes his mouth, feeling vaguely like a goldfish. After a few seconds, he shakes his head and throws caution to the wind, shooting Anthony a smile that’s sad and soft and curled at the edges, so alike to the smiles he used to offer Anthony in the mornings when they’d slept together in Anthony’s bedroom back then and yet not quite.

The words, though present, seem to be stuck in his throat. Ian doesn’t know how to dislodge them from there or how to speak without his voice cracking like glass.

“Why would it seem that you’re not happy for me?” Ian asks slowly, equal parts fearing what his voice will sound like and what Anthony’s answer is going to be.

Ian watches Anthony exhale through his nose, watches Anthony visibly think over what he’s going to say, and Ian feels so _lost_. They’re best friends, aren’t they? How did they come to this? How did they come to stilted conversation during breakfast about what they used to be?

Ian looks at his own bowl of cereal, thinks _fuck everything_ , and sighs before looking up again and meeting Anthony’s eyes. There are bags under his eyes, Ian notices, and he thinks that maybe Anthony didn’t really sleep, that maybe the bedhead and the rumpled clothes come from turning over and over again in bed as he futilely tried to get some rest.

“Because.” Anthony blinks like there are weights attached to his eyelids, sits like there is something heavy on his shoulders, and maybe there is. Maybe these are things that Ian had lost the right to see when he broke up with Anthony. Maybe these are things he isn’t supposed to notice anymore, because even though he is Anthony’s best friend, he is no longer his lover.

Maybe.

Everything’s hard. Everything is even more difficult when your best friend is your ex, because, well, what are the rules for ex boyfriends who are still kind of in love with their ex who is also their best friend? What can and what can’t Ian do? Where does he draw the line?

Anthony exhales tiredly, like he’s a soldier who has given up the fight. Tension bleeds from his muscles, and suddenly he looks more like a puppet than a puppeteer.

Anthony shrugs. “Because,” he continues, “we were together.”

Ian releases the breath he didn’t know he was holding in a shaky exhale. He feels…relieved, somehow, though he isn’t quite sure why.

Was he expecting another answer? He’s not sure. He thinks so, thinks that yes, he feels relieved because Anthony didn’t hit the mark like Ian thought he would.

There’s a stark difference between now and then, when Ian was 17 and willing to talk about things he doesn’t want to talk about, when Ian was the one who willingly broached the topic of what they were going to do. Ian doesn’t want to think that he has become a coward, but looking at the situation, he realizes that that’s what he most probably is.

He’s 20 now, and a coward. Amazing, right?

Ian blinks and tries to simultaneously forget about his thoughts and remember what Anthony said which, he may add, isn’t hard to do at all. Anthony’s words are echoing inside his head, like a song constantly being played over and over again.

Ian settles for “we broke up a year ago, Anthony.” His voice comes out less broken than he thought it would. He gives himself a mental pat on the back.

Anthony opens his mouth as if to say something, but quickly shuts it closed once more. He nods, an almost pained-looking smile present on his face as he bows his face and stares at his half-full bowl of cereal. “Yeah,” he says, sounding so small that it actually makes Ian’s chest hurt a little, “yeah, we did, didn’t we?”

_Didn’t we?_

Ian inhales sharply and watches, helpless, as Anthony shoots him a sad smile and stands up from his seat in a manner not unlike those who know they have to march towards war.

Ian doesn’t turn in his seat to watch Anthony go. Instead, he looks down on his own unappetizing bowl of cereal, hears the clatter of the bowl as Anthony puts it in the sink, and buries his face in his hands when he finally hears Anthony’s bedroom door close.

In a way, it feels like another break up, like Ian and Anthony had just cut something precious between them.

(It hurts. Oh God, it hurts.)

_**Twenty One** _

It’s a good day—scrap that, it’s a _great_ day, one of those too-rare days when it’s the perfect balance between being cold and being hot. The sun’s out in the sky, fluffy white clouds adorning the blue sky and blocking the sun’s rays in such a way that Ian can drive without having to put his sunglasses on.

Ian has his hands on the steering wheel and his eyes on the road before them, making sure not to get lost this time, unlike that time when he and Anthony wanted to try this new diner and had gotten lost for about two hours before they managed to find their way again.

(The diner’s food had been shitty. Those weren’t two hours well spent.)

Anthony’s seated beside him, eyes closed and head comfortably leaning back against the headrest, mouthing the words to the song playing on the radio. Ian’s eyes are, for a moment, caught by the rhythmic tapping of Anthony’s fingers on his lap, but he quickly redirects his focus on the road, willing himself to forget about the little details he keeps noticing.

He doesn’t have a right to those details anymore.

It’s another few minutes before he and Anthony finally arrive at a family-owned restaurant that stands out from the various fast food places nearby. Anthony slowly opens his eyes in a way that tells Ian that Anthony’s on the brink of falling asleep, lulled by the gentle vibrations of the car as Ian drove to the restaurant, and raises one hand to rub at his eyes, a yawn slipping out of his mouth. Ian watches all of this surreptitiously from the corner of his eyes, not wanting to be caught.

This is what he is now. He’s the best friend and the thief, stealing looks whenever Anthony’s too busy to notice, stealing touches because no matter how hard he tries, he can’t quite stay away, and stealing Anthony’s time, because Ian is 21 and he’s selfish and he’s in love with his best friend.

Trying to rein in the urge to yawn, Ian cuts the ignition and stays seated for a few moments, waiting for Anthony to get a hold of his bearings.

“We’re here,” Ian says for a lack of anything else to say. It’s two in the afternoon and he’s starving, enough that he kind of regrets not eating lunch earlier at a nearer place, say _Chipotle._ They’ve wanted to go to this restaurant ever since they heard about it a month ago, though, so Ian’s okay with settling for a late lunch.

Besides, the restaurant looks good, and at this time, there’s not a lot of people inside, so there’s that.

Anthony blinks, nodding when he finally realizes where they are. “Let’s go,” he says, his voice low and gravelly, something Ian has gotten to know so well ever since they started living together in the same house and Ian started seeing just how Anthony acts in the mornings while he’s half-asleep and half-awake.

Ian nods, and it’s a few steps to the front of the restaurant. The doors are made of wood and glass, and Ian opens the door for Anthony, merely grinning when Anthony raises an eyebrow.

When Ian steps inside, he is immediately hit by the feeling of _home_. It’s warm inside in a way that is so vastly different to the hot California weather. Ian stops, the tantalizing aroma of various spices making his stomach rumble in hunger and making his mind go back to when he was 10 and coming back home from school, the scent of freshly-baked bread in the air as Sharon turns around and smiles at him brightly, glad to see her son back.

“You okay?” Anthony asks, one eyebrow raised and something like concern in his eyes.

Wordless, Ian nods, following Anthony to the counter in front.

For a few moments, Anthony continues to look at him, worry etched deep in his eyes. Ian avoids his questioning look in favor of looking around him, in favor of noting the brickwork that makes the restaurant seem old school, in favor of trying to forget that memory of him when he was younger and everything was way simpler.

“Table for two, please?”

Ian watches the woman in her early-twenties nod, still grinning brightly.

“All righty,” she says, overly chipper. “If you would follow me, gents.”

Ian and Anthony follow her to a table far away from the entrance. She hands them two menus before leaving, her grin still in place.

It's like the old times, Ian thinks as he sits down opposite Anthony, one of the menus in his hand. If he thinks hard enough, he imagines he can pretend that this is just another day, that this is just another _date_.

Of course, when they were younger and still together, they couldn't afford to go to these kinds of restaurants, but that doesn't matter. Ian's pretty creative. He can look at the wooden table before him—a little dull in places but clean nonetheless—and imagine a plastic table in its place, the kind that cheap fast food places seem to love.

Who is he kidding? There's no pretending this. There's no pretending this, because there is a menu in his hand with a list of food that aren't just fried, there's a smooth wooden table beneath his palm instead of a plastic one with paper placemats, and there's a man sitting across him instead of a boy, a long and complicated history separating him from Ian, making him seem farther away than he really is.

Ian looks at the menu in front of him, his eyes unseeing. It's almost funny, the things he is willing to offer just for the chance to relive a certain part of his life.

When the girl—Stacy—reappears, Ian and Anthony quickly order. It isn't too long before Stacy's gone again, promising them that the food will be there shortly, menus tucked under her arm and her notepad in her hand.

Sitting here, Ian is suddenly overcome by the need to tell Anthony everything, like a sinner needing to confess to a priest past deeds. Words like “I miss you” and “I still love you” and “I'm not sure what I'm doing” get stuck in his throat, staying just beneath that lump that Ian can't seem to swallow past.

He and Anthony talk. Sometimes, like today, Ian is surprised by how he and Anthony never seem to run out of things to talk about considering the fact that they're around one another almost all the time. Despite the casualness Ian makes sure he exudes, however, his mind continues to run a mile a second, a thousand different thoughts about both past and future racing past his eyes in a blur.

God, he's 21 for fuck's sake. He shouldn't still be thinking about a decision he made when he was 19. He shouldn't be thinking about what-ifs concerning a relationship that's been dead for two years. What he should be doing is enjoying Anthony's company without longing for more.

Stacy puts down his and Anthony's orders gently, her smile still bright on her face.

The plates clink softly against the wooden table.

Ian looks at his food and feels vaguely unsatisfied despite not having taken a bite.

_**Twenty Two (Part 1)** _

Guilt becomes a new best friend, of sorts. Of course, guilt wouldn't be Ian's first choice of a best friend, but beggars can't be choosers.

Over time, it becomes something he can't quite seem to avoid, like a shadow he can't shake off no matter how hard he tries. It's there, seizing his heart in his chest whenever he walks out of his room to find Anthony endearingly _soft_ in the mornings, hair in disarray and mouth wide open in a yawn, one hand absently scratching his tummy, and it's there, mocking him during the evenings when he stays awake in bed, his eyes staring at the white ceiling as he thinks about how he shouldn't be thinking about this kind of thing anymore.

Ian feels undeniably selfish, and at the same time, ungrateful. It's a lethal cocktail, and Ian can't seem to stop drinking it.

He's 22. He's 22, and not at all moving on like he thought he was doing when he was 20. In some aspects, he's actually worse now than before. Moving on seems to be an unreachable dream now instead of the stark reality it was when he was 20, and decent communication with his best friend is a road far less traveled now as compared to when he was 17 and telling himself to deal with what he and Anthony had done the night before.

It's kind of distressing, to be perfectly honest. Now that he's older, isn't he supposed to be wiser?

_**Twenty Two (Part 2)** _

Melanie moves into his and Anthony's house, and suddenly, it feels like she's the needle to Ian's balloon.

That's not to say that she's an antagonist of any sort—no, not at all. It's just that now that she's here, Ian has to stop running away from the truth and face it head on.

The truth is, Ian never really moved on from Anthony.

It's nothing surprising, really—to be honest, it feels like the sort of thing that just _is_ , like the sort of thing that's been there for a long while. It's the kind of thing that Ian would try to forget about but is nonetheless constantly lurking in the back of his mind, like a nasty chore he has to do, or a certain bad memory he never wants to relive again. Now that Melanie's here, Ian has to accept the fact that he won't truly move on unless he gets some closure.

It doesn't seem like he's going to get that soon, though, considering that Ian's shit at communicating with his best friend regarding their past relationships. At 22, Ian is much more of a coward as compared to when he was 17.

“Let's go out and eat.”

Ian looks up from his laptop and his lips curl in a smile when he sees Melanie in the doorway, hip cocked against the wall, an inviting smile on her face. Her eyes are bright, and everything about her screams carefree.

Ian blinks, and suddenly, he's 17 again and in Anthony's bedroom, a grin on his face as he tells Anthony to get his ass up because Ian's hungry for Taco Bell.

A shake of the head.

“Yeah, let's,” Ian says, watching as Melanie grins even wider and walks away, presumably to get her stuff from the dining table.

With a sigh, Ian stands up and puts his laptop away, his body functioning on autopilot as his mind does its best to relive memories of when Ian was 17, his hands grabbing his wallet, phone, and keys from the nightstand.

He has to make a decision soon, he thinks. He can't continue like this.

_**Twenty Two (Part 3)** _

Ian doesn't get to make a decision. Life, apparently, has had enough of his shit, and takes the option of making a decision out of his hands in the form of Kalel Cullen—beauty guru, cat-lover, and gorgeous, _gorgeous_ girl.

It's not a competition. Hell, there isn't even _a_ competition. It's not like Ian is competing for Anthony's affections—and oh God, really? _Affections_? This isn't a fucking Harlequin novel—and even if Ian _was_ competing for attention, he knows he doesn't have even a slight chance of winning. Kalel is a kind of beauty he can't hope to go against.

“So, what do you think about her?”

Ian and Melanie are seated beside one another on their bed, the light turned on because Melanie's reading a book and Ian's looking through his emails on his laptop. With a vague and horrifying sense of realization, Ian turns his head to look at Melanie, content to watch Melanie continue reading her book for a while before looking back at his laptop screen, unwilling to ask but doing so anyway. “Her?”

He already knows the answer. Of course he does. He asks anyway, because he's a masochist like that, and because he's apparently a firm believer in slowly peeling the Band-Aid off the wound instead of quickly ripping it off.

Melanie looks up from her book. “You know, Kalel.”

Ian avoids her gaze, pretending to be deeply interested in an e-mail. It's not going to fool Melanie—not by a long shot—but he does it anyway, before closing the email and opening Facebook in another tab. “I think she's okay,” he says, taking care to sound neutral, yet believable. “What about you? What do you think?” he asks, focusing his gaze back on Melanie.

Melanie shrugs. “I don't know,” she says in that way that tells Ian that she's still trying to figure Kalel out. “We did just meet a while ago.” Melanie shrugs again, before looking back at her book. “I have a feeling that they'll last, though. They seem great together.”

Ian watches Melanie continue reading for a few more moments, his heart sinking in his chest, before he looks back at his screen, his eyes unseeing as they stare at the Facebook logo.

Chewing on his lip, Ian exits the browser and softly closes the laptop, putting it on the nightstand before lying back down and closing his eyes.

Already, he has lost the competition before it even begun.

_**Twenty Three (Part 1)** _

“Hey Ian, can I ask you a question?”

Ian briefly looks up from his phone and at Mari, shrugging before redirecting his focus back on the phone. “Shoot.”

“Are you and Anthony together?”

They're in the office, having just finished a meeting that basically just involved him and Anthony telling Mari that she was officially hired. Anthony had left a few seconds ago, excusing himself to go to the washroom.

Ian blinks, unsure as to whether or not he heard the words right. “Uhm...what?” He looks up from his phone.

Mari's eyes are wide. “No, I mean,” she says hurriedly, as if that will help Ian _not_ be concerned, as if that could turn back time and erase what she just said, “well, I didn't mean it in a bad way—”

“—Don't worry, I know you didn't,” Ian interjects, his voice calm as he tries to soothe Mari's nerves.

“—it's just, well, are you?” Mari finishes lamely.

Ian opens his mouth, only to close it again when he realizes that he doesn't really know what to tell her.

He's not even sure why he doesn't know what he's going to tell her, because it's supposed to be easy. It's supposed to be _simple_ , supposed to be clear-cut and stated as a fact, because it _is_. It's a question that warrants a one word answer, and yet Ian finds it hard to say the word, finds it hard to change Mari's beliefs about him and Anthony.

Mari looks at him expectantly, and Ian swallows past the lump in his throat, trying to get the word to come out of his mouth.

He sighs, looking back down at his phone. “No,” he eventually says, managing to sound casual and not at all heartbroken like an emotionally constipated 23-year-old who kind of wants to be 17 again.

This is what his life has come to. Nice.

Ian avoids looking at Mari. “Oh,” he hears her say, and she sounds absolutely astounded, like the foundation she has laid various bits of information upon has just crumbled because she had expected him to say yes when he answered no.

Ian is vaguely aware that he says “yeah”, but he's not really sure. He can't quite hear past the ringing in his ears.

Oh is right, he thinks. _Oh_.

(He forgets to tell Mari that he has a girlfriend. It should bother him, but it doesn't. Mari ends up being friends with Melanie anyway.)

_**Twenty Three (Part 2)** _

It's a gorgeous night, the kind that Ian rarely takes the time to appreciate because his focus is constantly on other things. The moon is actually visible past the city lights, and the stars hanging overhead look bright and ethereal, like glitter on dark blue cloth combined with a little bit of magic. The air is cool, just cold enough to warrant Ian wearing a casual gray and black striped hoodie, but not so cold that he has to turn the heater on so much in his car.

Kalel and Anthony are seated in the backseat, speaking to each other in low, hushed tones. Ian can see from the rear-view mirror that they're holding hands, can see the soft smile on Anthony's lips that Ian thinks he hasn't seen in a long while. Anthony looks... _soft_. Content. The creases in his forehead that would usually only be concealed by makeup are gone now, and it's so damn distracting how Anthony looks younger, looks more relaxed, looks more like he's actually enjoying himself, that Ian forces himself to look away and focus back on the road before him lest he gets them involved in an accident.

He's silent the entire drive to the restaurant, his mind filled with thoughts he would rather not ponder on. They're going back to that restaurant he and Anthony went to about two years ago, that family-owned restaurant that felt a little bit like home with the scent of various spices in the air and the kind of warmth that can only be produced by a working kitchen. To be perfectly honest, Ian's dreading the entire thing. It's not that he has a problem with Kalel, because really, he _doesn't_ , it's just that Ian really doesn't want to spend his night being the third wheel to what is basically his best friend's date with his girlfriend. Ian would have brought Melanie with him, he really would, except it turned out that Melanie already had plans with a few of her friends beforehand, and by then it was already too late for Ian to back out of what was supposed to be a double-date but is now just a sad excuse for a hangout.

Ian shakes his head, turning the steering wheel and driving into the parking lot. It says a lot about him, he thinks, the fact that he's dreading spending time with his best friend and his best friend's girlfriend. If he were somebody else hearing about this entire thing, he'd call himself selfish.

“We're here,” he says as he turns the ignition off, resisting the urge to look at the rear-view mirror and check on Kalel and Anthony. He exits the car without waiting for them, managing to gently close the door.

Kalel and Anthony exit the car, and it's not too long before they're in the restaurant, being led to their table. A kid named Paul is their server, and he flashes them a winning grin before leaving with their drink orders.

The restaurant is as Ian remembered it to be. He and Anthony hadn't gone to this restaurant since that first time—their schedules didn't really allow for much driving just to eat at a certain place, and there were always other newer and closer restaurants to check out—but Ian hadn't forgotten about the layout of the restaurant. How could he forget? The last time they were here, he basically spent the entire time trying to forget the layout of the restaurant and trying to imagine something else in its place, something old and just _theirs_ when there was still such a thing as “them”. And there is nothing, Ian thinks, that more fully commits something to memory than the wish to forget.

So yes, Ian knows this place. He knows this wooden table—a little duller now than before, but that's understandable seeing as it has been two years since he last stepped into this place—and he knows that mixture of spices in the air, that rich scent of garlic and freshly-baked pastries. The electric light above their table should be a little harsh and a little glaring like all artificial lights are, but instead, the light is soft and mellow, bathing their little corner in refreshing yellow, the way Ian thinks memories tinged with nostalgia appear in the mind's eye. Anthony, in particular, looks even softer than before. There's an easiness about him that tells Ian all Ian needs to know.

He's moved on.

For a moment, Ian can do nothing but watch as Anthony raises the menu to his face, oblivious to Ian's current thought process, Kalel leaning over to look at the menu with him. A sick, slow realization spreads through him until he feels like he might shake with the intensity of all the things he's feeling.

Oh God, he's the bitter ex.

He's the bitter ex who pretends everything is going well and who goes on hangouts with the guy he's still admittedly in love with despite that fact because he's not going to pass up an opportunity to show Anthony that he's _fine_. He's that bitter ex who spends years pining for someone _he_ broke up with, that bitter ex who's trying to one-up the competition who _isn't even really competing_ , that bitter ex who's still clinging to a thing of the past because moving on doesn't exist in their vocabulary.

He's that guy.

Ian blinks. He's absently aware that his hands are raising the menu so that it's covering his face, so that he can pretend that everything's fine and that he's actually thinking about what he's going to order instead of hiding behind boards with printed texts and pictures so that his best friend and his new girlfriend can't see the desire burning in Ian's eyes for the ground to open up and swallow him whole. There are honest to God tears springing in his eyes and fuck, how much more pathetic can he get?

Anthony's moved on. It's time for Ian to do so as well.

But God, it's so hard. It's so difficult to let go of the past when all he wants is to have the past _back,_ when all he wants is to relive it.

The thing is, Ian thinks he has forgotten what it's like to not be in love with Anthony. He's been in too deep for so long that imagining himself with someone else has become something of an impossibility, that imagining himself being happy with Anthony's decision to be with someone else has become something he doesn't think he'll be able to do despite the fact that he's Anthony's best friend. Will he be able to pretend that he's fine? Yes. Without a doubt, yes. Because no matter how selfish Ian can get—and Ian _knows_ just how selfish he can get—Ian is still Anthony's best friend, first and foremost, and he will do anything just to see Anthony happy, even if he has to watch Anthony be happy with someone else and not him.

Huh. He's actually being a sort of mature adult about this entire thing. 17-year-old him would be proud.

The real question, he thinks, lies in whether or not he'll be able to pretend that he's fine well enough to convince Anthony, someone who has known him for so long, he actually kind of wonders how Anthony hasn't grown sick of his presence yet. To be perfectly honest, despite all the acting he has been doing since he was a teenager and he and Anthony had stumbled into this happy coincidence of a life, Ian doesn't think he'll ever be able to fool Anthony into thinking he's okay. No acting lesson in the world will manage to make Ian's acting believable when it concerns his best friend.

Noticing a waiter walking towards their direction from the corner of his eyes, Ian quickly pays attention to the items listed in front of him and picks one of the restaurant's specialties, their Chicken Fettuccini Alfredo, even though eating is the farthest thing from his mind.

Paul, overeager and a bit like that girl Stacy from two years before—seriously, does this restaurant feed their waiters drugs or something?— _strides_ to their table, blond hair flopping over his brown eyes. He has a notepad in his hands and a small, dull pencil, and a wide grin is pasted on his face.

“Are you ready to order?” Paul asks, looking like he's about to vibrate in place for all the excitement he exudes. Just from looking at him, Ian feels somewhat _exhausted_ already.

Out of habit, Ian looks at Anthony from the corner of his eyes after glancing quickly at their waiter. His lips quirk into a smile when he sees Anthony hold in his laughter, probably noticing as well how Paul seems like he smoked a giant blunt before going to work.

Kalel, oblivious to their antics, smiles up at Paul, her red lips curling like rose petals opening as the flower blooms in spring. Ian can practically see the cartoon hearts in Paul's eyes.

Ian can practically see the cartoon hearts in Anthony's eyes.

Just like that, the smile fades from his lips, and he swallows painfully past the lump in his throat, looking down at the menu. He barely remembers to answer Paul when he asks him for his order, caught as he is in his own thoughts.

The reason why it hurts so much, Ian thinks as he hands Paul his menu and glances at Anthony and Kalel sitting opposite him, is because the faint hope that things will end up like they did before has died in the face of _this_ , of Anthony finding happiness with someone else. The voice in the back of Ian's head convincing him that this break up isn't permanent, that this is only like that break up they had when they were both 17 and stupid, is silent now, having seen enough evidence to the contrary, and it is that that makes Ian's heart fall to his stomach, makes bile rise in his throat.

Ian glances at Anthony and Kalel. They don't notice him looking, busy as they are talking to each other under their breaths, the small smiles on their faces making Ian feel like an intruder to such an intimate moment.

Ian looks at the empty seat beside him.

It's sending him a signal, he feels.

_**Twenty Four (Part 1)** _

Angst or no angst, Ian does try his best to move on. Melanie and Anthony both deserve so much from him, and every night, it kills Ian that he can't quite be what Melanie and Anthony need him to be. He can't be the boyfriend Melanie deserves, someone who's head over heels in love with her and her myriad quirks, and he can't be the best friend Anthony deserves, someone who's supportive and happy for his friend's decisions.

So he forces himself to move on.

He's come so far, he thinks, from when everything began. Though he's still far from when he was 17 and willing to talk about things he didn't want to talk about but knew he had to, he's at least past that phase when he was 20 and pretending to himself that he's moving on. He's still a bit of a coward, yes, but at least he's honest with himself. That's got to count for something, right?

Every single thing he's been working on falls to pieces when he hears Anthony tell him that he's moving out.

“What?” Ian asks, feeling like he misheard Anthony.

Anthony gives him a slow, sad smile, before ducking his head and watching his own hand as he pours milk into his bowl of cereal.

Ian is struck with a sense of deja vu, the momentary confusion making his head spin.

Is this what defines his relationship with Anthony now? Awkward breakfasts, dinners at a family-owned restaurant, and unspoken conversations?

“I'm moving out,” Anthony says simply, avoiding Ian's gaze. He puts the milk away very carefully, his eyes still focused on his hand, before he _slowly_ looks up and meets Ian's gaze, hesitation and doubt present in his eyes. Ian can see the bags under his eyes and the creases on his forehead, and those are all he needs to know that Anthony has thought about this decision, has possibly thought about how his decision might affect Ian.

And really, what right does he have to turn down a decision Anthony has so obviously thought about very carefully?

Ian blinks, looking down into his own bowl as if Kellogg's Frosted Flakes contain all the answers he needs, before looking back up and offering a faint smile. “I'm happy for you, man,” he manages to choke out, the words feeling like an apple seed he just barely managed to spit back out.

No matter what his opinion on the subject is, he's not going to say anything. Why would he? He doesn't have that right anymore, he thinks. He gave that right up years ago.

This time, he's going to let Anthony be happy away from him. He's going to try to not be as selfish, going to try to give Anthony the space they both obviously need. He's not going to poison the air between them with words, no matter how much he wishes he can tell Anthony everything.

Anthony...Anthony doesn't believe him. Ian can see it, can see the small furrow of his brows, can see the suspicious look in his eyes. It's a little heartbreaking, to see that this is what has become of their friendship. It makes Ian want to vomit.

How did they let it get to this? How did _he_ let it get to this? He's pretty sure 17-year-old him would have been horrified at how things happened, especially since the entire reason why he talked to Anthony that morning when they were both seventeen was to avoid exactly _this_ happening between the two of them.

“Thanks, man,” Anthony says. The doubt in his eyes are gone, and his lips are curled in a small smile, relief shining bright in his eyes. It seems that he chose to believe Ian after all, to take Ian's “I'm happy for you, man” at face value.

“I'm guessing that means I should move out?”

It's the least of Ian's worries. Really. Right now, he couldn't care less about his living arrangements—he knows that no matter his decision, Anthony isn't going to throw him out—but now that the words have left his mouth, he's starting to think that it might be a good idea to get out of the house and get a living space that's just his, somewhere new that won't constantly remind him of Anthony.

Now that he thinks about it, he can't actually imagine staying in here, knowing that Anthony is so many miles away from him. He doesn't think he can bear it, living here alone, surrounded by so many of Anthony's things.

“You shouldn't if you don't want to,” Anthony says, shaking his head. He means it. Ian can see the sincerity in his eyes.

Ian shakes his head. “I think I'd rather go find a place of my own. It would feel pretty weird staying here without you.” The words come out more honest than he was prepared for, but Ian doesn't pay them any mind. “Maybe I'll ask Melanie if she wants to live with me. We were thinking about living together anyway.”

It's a lie. He and Melanie _hadn't_ been thinking about moving in together. It says a lot about him, he thinks, that lying comes easily to him, words flowing out of his mouth smoothly, as if he planned to say them all along when he didn't.

These past few months—maybe even _years—_ Melanie's name has become some sort of weapon, and Ian _hates_ it. He hates that Melanie's name has become something he can throw around like a knight throwing down a gauntlet, that Melanie's name has become something Ian can use to win a competition that only exists in his own mind, that Melanie's name has become something Ian can say to remind Anthony that he has a girlfriend, to remind Anthony that Ian has moved on even if it isn't the truth.

Ian hates the fact that he can throw Melanie's name around so casually, but even more than that is how he hates the fact that immediately after saying her name, he glances at Anthony to see if he flinched or did _anything_ that can give even the slightest support to Ian's wildest and most ridiculous fantasy that Anthony still hasn't moved on from him.

(Ian hates the fact that he's still hoping to find something in Anthony's face to indicate that he still wants Ian despite the fact that no matter how many times he tries, he knows Anthony's not going to magically start caring in the way he wants him to.)

“That's great.”

Ian spoons cereal into his mouth, not saying anything else.

_**Twenty Four (Part 2)** _

“How do I look?”

Ian looks at Melanie and allows a small smile to appear on his face. “You look lovely,” he says, truthful. Melanie's in a stunning light blue dress that falls to her knees, her ears adorned by teardrop earrings and her feet in dark blue pumps. Ian reaches toward her with one hand, bringing a lock of hair behind her ear so he can better see her eyes.

“Thanks,” she says, a soft smile on her own face.

“It's not a problem.” Ian looks out the car window, looks at the multitude of cars in the parking lot. “Ready?”

“As always,” Melanie says, shooting a grin at him before opening the door and smoothly stepping out, high-heels clicking against the concrete. She closes the door behind her with gentle hands.

Ian takes a few moments to himself, remaining seated there for a few more seconds, content to look out the windshield and at Melanie's form, before undoing the seatbelt and exiting the car. He closes the door and presses the button on his key to lock the car before walking towards Melanie and offering one arm.

“Milady,” he says, smiling at her.

Melanie laughs, a carefree sound that Ian loves hearing, before foregoing his arm and holding his hand instead, fingers entwining with his. “What a gentleman,” Melanie says, a smile still playing around her pink lips.

“But of course,” he says, exaggerating his accent. Melanie laughs louder, throwing her head back, one hand coming up belatedly to cover her mouth.

The time away from Anthony has done him some good, Ian thinks as he and Melanie start walking towards the elevator. Sure, he still sees Anthony during shoots and during random hangouts, but he doesn't have to constantly be with him, and Ian thinks that that has been advantageous for him these past few weeks. Not constantly being in his presence has allowed Ian to grow a bit, to find out what he wants for himself, to try and define himself without Anthony.

Of course, he still wants Anthony, but now it's a fact he has learned to not put above others. It's something that he has put on the back burner, something that's constantly there, yes, but at least isn't constantly at the forefront of his mind.

“So, what do you think the apartment's going to be like?” Melanie asks as she steps forward and presses the button on the elevator.

Ian shrugs, his eyes remaining focused on the number above the elevator doors. “I don't know. Clean?”

Melanie laughs. “I hope it's clean,” she says in that manner of hers that always makes Ian imagine her rolling her eyes. “No, but seriously. 10 bucks says there's going to be something very girly in the apartment.”

Ian tears his eyes away from the glowing numbers and looks at Melanie, a mock-serious look on his face. “I'm not betting against that,” he says in a matter of fact tone, his lips cracking into a smile when Melanie laughs.

“Seriously though, I think the apartment's going to be nice,” Melanie comments when she's finally gotten a hold of herself. She turns towards Ian and reaches for his hair with the hand that's not holding Ian's, fingers running through his hair as she moves his hair away from his eyes.

Ian swallows past the sudden lump in his throat. “I guess so. We might have to reconsider on the clean part, though.” He looks at Melanie. “You know how Anthony is. I wouldn't be surprised if when we arrive, Kalel's still telling Anthony to get his stuff out the living room,” he jokes weakly.

Melanie laughs, shaking her head. “He might be unorganized, but he's still more organized than you.”

“Very true,” Ian says, a smile once again appearing on his lips.

The elevator doors open, and Ian and Melanie exit the elevator hand in hand. The carpet muffles Melanie's heels, but it doesn't stop Ian from hearing the quick beating of his heart in his chest.

“You ready?” Ian asks when they finally stop in front of a door.

“You know I am.”

Ian smiles, and knocks on the door.

They don't have to wait long before Anthony is opening the door, a genuine smile on his face when he sees Melanie and Ian. “You made it,” he says, surprised.

As if Ian and Melanie wouldn't come.

Anthony steps forward and hugs Melanie. Melanie lets go of Ian's hand and hugs Anthony back, smiling when Anthony kisses her cheek before stepping back again. When Anthony steps forward to hug Ian briefly as well, Ian quells down the desire to kiss him instead and steps forward as well, hugging him briefly before stepping back, back to Melanie's side.

Anthony smells like that expensive cologne he likes so much. Ian is almost shocked by how much he misses the scent of it lingering inside their house.

“Come in, come in,” Anthony says, overeager like a puppy. Melanie steps inside and immediately goes to Kalel, hugging her and kissing her cheek. Ian stays behind with Anthony, accepting the beer bottle that Anthony gets seemingly out of nowhere.

Anthony closes the door behind them, and Ian takes a moment to look around, his eyes scanning over the clean living room, the pristine appliances. It's obvious that Anthony has built something for himself over here, that Anthony has found something that doesn't necessarily involve Ian.

Ian should be happy for him, and he is, really, just not as much as he should be.

God. Ian is 24 and standing in his best friend's apartment with his girlfriend, holding a beer bottle. He is, for all intents and purposes, an adult now, but to be perfectly honest, he feels anything _but_. Right now, he feels foolish, feels like he's 17 again, though less mature than when he actually _was_ 17.

Gather around, people, and witness Ian Hecox, the master of low-key pining for a best friend who has obviously moved on from a relationship that ended years ago.

Ian resists the urge to bury his face in his hands.

“So, what do you think?” Anthony asks, looking at him with a small, hopeful smile on his face.

Ian clears his throat. “It's great,” he says truthfully. “I'm happy for you. Cheers, man.” Ian raises the beer bottle towards Anthony.

Anthony's smile turns into a full-fledged grin, and he raises his own beer bottle, clinking it against Ian's.

The sound rings in Ian's ears long after they've moved away from the door.

_**Twenty Five (Part 1)** _

“So what, she's vegan now?”

Ian takes a sip of his water as he watches Anthony nod.

“Wow,” Ian says after swallowing his water. “I can't imagine becoming vegan.” Ian shakes his head, glancing down at his decidedly _very_ meaty lunch, the restaurant's Grilled Beef Kabobs.

Anthony shrugs. “She says she's doing it for the animals,” he says, before bringing a spoonful of soup to his mouth. He chews on the chicken bits for a few seconds before swallowing. “If she chooses to go with it, I'll support her in her decision. I think it's a great thing to do, anyway.”

Ian musters up a smile. It comes out rather sad and small, he thinks. “Look at you, becoming a mature adult. Who gave you permission to grow up without me?”

Anthony rolls his eyes, but there's a grin on his face. “My mom, when she gave birth to me without thinking about you.”

Ian looks at the other tables, filled at this time of day, and lets his mind wander for a while as he chews on the beef. Conversation is filling the air, various voices joining together to form a relaxing sort of background music to Ian's thoughts.

“What about when you're eating together? Are you going to eat vegan, too?” Ian asks, removing his gaze from faraway and focusing back on Anthony.

Anthony chews slowly, taking the time to think about Ian's question. “I don't know,” he admits. “Maybe? It seems rude to eat the stuff she doesn't eat around her.”

“That's gonna be tough, man.”

Anthony shakes his hand. “It's a small sacrifice. Besides, I probably need to get used to it, anyway.”

Ian stops sipping his water. “Why?”

Anthony bites his lip for a second, before taking a deep breath and exhaling. “I, uh, I'm thinking of proposing.”

Just like that, Ian's world crumbles. The pleasant chit-chat that filled the air fades away, leaving only the ringing in Ian's ears, the too loud pumping of his heart, and the multitude of thoughts speeding past his mind for company. Ian feels paralyzed, his eyes focused on something faraway, something that's neither here nor there.

_Proposing_. Jesus. Ian still can't quite wrap his head around it, around the fact that Anthony, his best friend, is proposing to someone else.

_You've only been together for not even three years_ , Ian wants to say, but he clamps his mouth shut. This isn't his decision, isn't something that Anthony needs to run by Ian. What this is is something Ian's supposed to congratulate Anthony about, something Ian's supposed to be happy and supportive about, not the opposite.

In a rush, the voices filling the air come back to him, drowning out the ringing noise in his ears. Ian looks up and finds Anthony's eyes intent on him, brown orbs warm with excitement, masking a little bit of doubt.

Ian swallows past the painful lump in his throat and ignores the ache in his chest and the sudden loss of appetite. His mouth feels dry, like he has been consuming cinnamon by the spoonful, and he feels cold even in his gray cardigan. Still, he forces himself to get the words out. “I'm happy for you, Anthony,” Ian says, and his voice comes out a little soft and a little broken, like a worn out teddy bear that's too old to repair.

Anthony smiles, brilliant and dazzling and reminding Ian of the sun. “I'm thinking of taking her to Japan, actually, and proposing to her there.”

“That's great,” Ian says weakly, not having the strength to manage anything more than the faint volume of his voice. He feels dizzy, feels pain radiating throughout his chest cavity, feels clamps tightening around his lungs, feels a fist squeezing out his heart, until he can't breathe, until he can't bleed.

Japan. Ian has always wanted to go to Japan.

Tamping down the urge to vomit, Ian swallows the bile back. Food has never looked less appetizing than now.

What is he supposed to say next? _I'm happy for you_? He's so far from being happy for Anthony that he thinks he'd rather leave the table without any explanation than tell Anthony congratulations on his important life decision.

Fuck, it _hurts_. It hurts that Anthony, his best friend for so many years, and who, at one point, was his boyfriend, the very same boy he had spent evenings curled under covers with, talking about far-fetched dreams and fantasies about traveling to places like _Japan_ , is going with Kalel to the same place Ian wanted to go to since he was a kid. It feels like some sort of betrayal, in a way.

Ian bites his lip and ignores the hurt in his chest, reaching for his glass of water with a slightly shaking hand. Even though the water is cool against his lips and tongue, his mouth still feels as dry as ever.

Proposing. In Japan. Anthony might as well grab the bread knife placed against on the pristine white cloth and carve Ian's heart out with it.

“When are you planning on doing it?” Ian's traitorous mouth asks, because apparently, he's a masochist like that.

Ian doesn't know whether to be happy or fucking devastated that Anthony apparently hasn't noticed that Ian's only a little bit responsive, that Ian's eyes can't quite meet his, that Ian's squirming in his chair, doing everything he can to remain seated there instead of running the hell away from here.

Anthony smiles, toothy and happy and everything Ian thought he would be the cause behind, not a girl Anthony met in a club almost three years ago. “I don't know yet. Probably this summer. I still have to look for a ring.”

Ian should say something. He should say something that's not a lie, something that doesn't fall in the category of being a supportive best friend. He should tell Anthony what he feels, should tell him that this is a bad idea, should tell him that Ian regrets everything.

But he doesn't talk. He doesn't even open his mouth. He knows he missed his chance.

Ian takes in a shaky breath. “Well congratulations, man. Good luck.”

Anthony grins.

Ian is struck by the thought that he has never wanted anyone to be happy and to hurt so badly.

_**Twenty Five (Part 2)** _

Kalel says yes. _Of course_ , she says yes. There wasn't ever a chance that she wouldn't.

Ian—Ian doesn't even find out from Anthony. No. He finds out from watching the video, and he's not even fucking subscribed to Anthony and Kalel's channel—a fan tweeted him the link and asked him his opinion, and though he didn't reply, he watched the video. _Of course_ , he did. Hurting or not, there was no chance that he wouldn't.

Sighing, Ian texts Anthony his congratulations, glad that he doesn't have to face him soon.

“So they're engaged now?”

Ian looks up from his phone, watching as Melanie walks toward the couch, a bowl of popcorn in hand. He nods. “Yeah.”

Melanie plops down on their couch with a happy sigh, legs rising until she can fold them and plant her feet on the couch, the hand holding the bowl of popcorn placing the bowl in that space between her tummy and her folded legs. “That's nice. Japan?”

Ian stands up from the chair and pockets his phone, one hand easily lifting the Macbook from the desk. “Mhhm,” he says, walking towards the couch with his Macbook in hand. He sits down on the other side of the couch and brings his legs up as well, stretching his legs out and burying his cold feet underneath Melanie's feet.

“Ian!” Melanie says, half-laughing as she tries to squirm away from his freakishly cold feet. “You're gross,” she says, but there's no contempt there, only amusement. She's too used to his antics to start disliking them _now_ , after four, going on five, years.

Ian grins, putting his Macbook on his lap, the lid still open. “What's gross about that? My feet are clean.”

Melanie rolls her eyes. There's still a grin on her face. Without warning, she grabs a fistful of popcorn and throws it in Ian's direction.

Ian looks down on his poor laptop, before looking up at Melanie with that look that says, “really? Are you sure you want to fight with me?” The smile on his face widens, and with careful hands, he removes the Macbook from his hand and places it on the low coffee table nearby, hands immediately reaching for Melanie right after.

“Oh no you don't,” Melanie says slowly, backing away. The smile on her face becomes just that little bit wider, and the look in her eyes become just that little bit more challenging. Her hand reaches into the plastic orange bowl, threatening.

Ian eyes her hand in the bowl, still coming closer. “Bring it,” he says, and though he means the words that just left his mouth, he's fully unprepared for the sudden pelting of popcorn against his face.

Melanie laughs, bringing her head back in that way that she always does, her eyes shut tight. “No!” she says when she has gathered her bearings, backing away as Ian comes closer and closer, until his face is merely inches away from hers.

“Are you sure?” Ian asks, ignoring the awkward way he's leaning over Melanie, her knees digging a bit painfully against his stomach.

Melanie smiles. She doesn't say anything, merely reaching for the back of his head with one hand, fingers sticky with butter, and brings him down. “No,” she whispers, before kissing Ian, lips soft against his, her mouth tasting like popcorn.

Kissing Melanie is so very far from kissing Anthony.

Still, it's an experience on its own.

_**Twenty Six (Part 1)** _

Another restaurant. This time, it's a vegan one.

Ian wonders what he's going to go through this time. He and Anthony seem to have a not-so-good track record with fancy restaurants, after all.

The sun is shining brightly outside in the way that even Ian, who's seated at a table inside the air-conditioned restaurant, shudders at the thought of having to walk outside. At this time, the restaurant is filled with people, and even here, near the glass wall that shows the poor customers who are eating outside at round, metallic tables with huge black umbrellas that shade them from the sun but don't do much against the heat, Ian can hear the voices of the group seated far from the glass, near the small fountain of the garden.

Ian takes a sip of his iced tea, watching as Anthony takes a bite of his Chili Con Veggie, a satisfied groan rumbling from his throat when he tastes the freshly-prepared meal.

Anthony's vegan now. It's not supposed to surprise Ian this much, considering that in hindsight, it all seemed to be leading up to this. Now that Anthony's going to be marrying Kalel, Ian's not surprised that Anthony's making eating vegan a full-term thing.

Still, it's surprising. It's different, and though it isn't really bad, it fills Ian with a sense of nostalgia. It reminds Ian of a time when they were still younger and going to Taco Bell drive-throughs at one in the morning. This whole being vegan thing reminds Ian of Kalel, and she's not really a welcome thought, not when Ian and Anthony are alone together, not when Ian's trying to forget that his best friend's getting married soon.

Ian looks at his vegan burger, slowly reaching for his fork and knife because this is the type of place wherein eating burgers with hands would probably be frowned upon. Ian feels a little awkward using a fork and a knife to eat a burger, but it's a small price to pay for a meal alone with Anthony that isn't being filmed for a Lunchtime episode.

Bringing the forkful of burger to his mouth, Ian's eyes widen when the flavors burst in his mouth, different spices mixing together. He shouldn't be this surprised that it tastes good, but he is.

“So,” Anthony says when Ian's swallowing his piece of vegan burger and is cutting another piece, “you're probably wondering why I asked to have lunch with you.”

“What, bros can't go on bro-dates?” Ian asks, amusement coloring his tone as he brings another forkful of vegan burger to his mouth.

Anthony doesn't crack a smile. He looks as serious as he was before, and, if Ian's going to be honest, a little bit nervous. “It's not that.”

Ian furrows his eyebrows, slowly becoming a little alarmed. “Well,” he says slowly, not wanting to aggravate whatever it is that's worrying Anthony, “what is it?” In an effort to look casual, Ian opens his mouth and eats the piece of burger on his fork. Despite the flavor, Ian's starting to slowly lose his appetite.

Anthony takes a deep breath, exhaling sharply. He looks like a nervous teenager who's going to ask his crush to be his prom date. “Will you be my best man?”

Ian chokes. It's not a pretty thing, and it's not exactly subtle either, not something he can pretend didn't happen. No. It's full-blown, honest to God, choking session, complete with wheezing coughs and heavy thumps to the chest with his fist.

_Best man._ Christ.

Eyes watering, Ian raises one hand. “I'm fine,” he tries to say, not wanting strangers to come closer to their table. Glancing at Anthony, Ian sees that Anthony's eyebrows are furrowed in concern, sees Anthony's hands hovering, ready to help Ian the moment Ian decides he should get some help.

“Wrong hole,” Ian wheezes out in an attempt to ease Anthony's worry. Fist still thumping against his chest, Ian shakes his head. “I'm fine.”

He's not fine. He's anything _but_ fine. He's not going to say that, though, because half the customers inside the restaurant are looking at their table and not even making an effort to look like they aren't, and the other half aren't looking but are clearly listening in.

When he has finally gotten a hold of himself, Ian takes a sip of his water and clears his throat. “Sorry,” he says, a little breathless, “what were you saying?” Just in case Ian _had_ heard Anthony right, Ian steers clear of the burger, and the glass of water too, for that matter.

At this, the nervous look comes back on Anthony's face in full force. “I was wondering if you would be my best man.”

Ah. Not a mistake, then.

Again, this is one of those things that aren't supposed to be surprising, but somehow is. Ian isn't being presumptuous, no, but it isn't like Anthony's going to ask other people to be his best man. Still, it surprises Ian like the recoil of a gun the first time Ian went to a shooting range—in theory, he knew about the recoil, but the reality is so much more than what he was expecting.

Perhaps the reason why he's so surprised, he thinks, is because a small part of him thought that Anthony wouldn't ask him to be the best man because of their shared history together.

And with that thought comes another, slightly more concerning thought: does Kalel know? Does she know that before her, there was Ian? Does she know that Ian is basically all of Anthony's firsts?

Ian wants to ask. He wants to ask so badly, but he knows he can't. It's not the type of thing best friends talk about.

It's not the type of thing exes talk about.

“Of course I would,” Ian says.

As if he had a choice.

_**Twenty Six (Part 2)** _

Ian is exhausted.

They've just finished a shoot in the Smosh house, and now they're driving to Los Angeles. Ian would have stayed at his house, but there's a meeting with some of the Youtube executives the day after, and Ian and Anthony had already talked about Ian staying at Anthony and Kalel's apartment the night before, hence the driving.

It's about two hours in when Anthony starts talking about the wedding he and Kalel are trying to organize. And Ian—Ian is too tired for this shit, too exhausted to try and convince Anthony that he's happy for him when he's not. So when Anthony starts talking about Kalel's wedding dress, Ian opens his mouth.

“I'm still sort of in love with you,” Ian blurts out, and immediately he is hit by the urge to slam his head against the steering wheel.

The sun is setting, dark reds and oranges slowly being overcome by myriad shades of violet and blue. It's a wonderful day. Why the fuck didn't Ian keep his mouth shut?

The temperature inside the car might as well have dropped several degrees, with how still the air is. For a few moments, Ian finds it hard to breathe, finds it hard to keep his eyes on the road before him, finds it hard not to squeeze the steering wheel until his knuckles are white, finds it hard not to just fling himself out of the car while it's still moving 60 miles per hour.

Anthony is frozen beside him. Normally, Anthony is constantly moving, whether it's his fingers tapping against his lap or it's his head minutely moving as he tries to find a comfortable position against the headrest, but now, he is absolutely still. Ian is aware of this even through a single glance in Anthony's way.

Ian deflates. “I shouldn't have said that,” he says, his voice low and whisper-soft. In the stillness of the car, Anthony doesn't have to strain to hear what Ian just said.

This time, Ian doesn't have to force himself to look at the road before him, scared as he is to see Anthony's reaction.

Anthony clears his throat. “When were you planning on telling me?” Anthony asks, and his voice is small as well, as if he's afraid to shatter the silence that's enveloping them both.

Ian shakes his head and glances at Anthony for a short moment before focusing back on the road. “I wasn't planning on telling you, I promise,” he says, because it's important for Anthony to know that even if Ian clearly hasn't moved on, he's still doing his best to be worthy of being called Anthony's best friend, still doing his best to support Anthony in his decisions no matter what his personal opinion may be. Ian tries to ignore the way his heart is beating in double-time, but he can't quite do it, not when there isn't much of a distraction for him to get lost in.

Anthony nods slowly. “So you weren't planning on telling me.”

Is that the wrong answer? Anthony's tone tells Ian that he gave the wrong answer, that Anthony's _this_ close to being properly angry.

Ian settles for the truth. “I wasn't,” he says. He wishes that he didn't open his mouth, wishes that he could have settled for driving while Anthony's talking as he rides shotgun, something that Ian is so very intimately familiar with. He wishes he hadn't snapped, wishes he could have this conversation with Anthony somewhere else, not while in a car as Ian is driving down the freeway.

His hands clench on the leather steering wheel. He forces himself to speak. It's a little bit like when he was 17 and telling himself that talking about this entire thing with Anthony will ultimately be beneficial to their friendship, and yet not _quite_. Not quite, because he knows that talking about this will open a can of worms.

Now, though, it's too late to back out. He has opened the can already. He might as well clean up the surroundings.

And really, it's impossible to clean up his mess without getting his hands dirty.

“I wasn't going to tell you, because I knew you had moved on. I mean, you met Kalel.” Ian swallows past the lump in his throat. “You found something for yourself. You were happy. I wasn't going to mess with that.”

“And you thought it would be a great time to tell me this now?” Anthony asks, and there it is, the layer of anger and frustration just beneath the tone of his voice, subtle, but nearly becoming anything _but_. Like the glittering blue of the ocean, Anthony's anger is the darker undercurrent, the waves preparing to rise beneath the surface.

Ian inhales sharply. He deflates, the anger that he wants to overcome him not quite coming because now, he knows he's in the wrong. “I'm sorry.”

“Fuck, Ian, you should be!” Anthony says, and the anger is there now, present and not even trying to hide itself. “Why are you telling me this? You shouldn't be telling me this!”

And Ian—Ian is finally overcome by that tide of anger that he wanted to. “Well then what the fuck do you want me to do, huh? I told you that I didn't plan on telling you, and you got angry. Now that I'm actually telling you, you're angry again. What the fuck do you want?”

It's a rare show of anger. Usually, Ian would keep everything bottled up inside, would clamp his mouth shut, not wanting words to make their way past his lips, but now, anger shoots out of him like a geyser, exhausted as he is to even try and tamp everything down.

“I'm getting married!” Anthony shouts, frustrated, and Ian—

—Ian deflates, all the pent up anger disappearing from within him so quickly, he almost curls into himself at the feeling of this yawning emptiness inside him where the anger used to be.

He doesn't have to worry about the empty space, though. Soon enough, an extraordinary combination of wretchedness and sheer pain fill it, and Ian suddenly has to focus more on the road, has to try and ignore how it feels like there are cotton balls in his mouth, making it hard for him to try to speak, making it hard for him to try to _explain_.

Ian glances at Anthony. Anthony's looking out his window, his gaze somewhere far away from here, from _them_. His hands are clenched on his lap and he's absolutely still. Swallowing past the lump in his throat, Ian returns his focus back on the road before him.

Anthony inhales sharpy, then releases his breath slowly. He's trying to calm himself. Ian has seen this happen plenty of times, but he was almost never the cause of it.

“I'm getting married.” Anthony laughs, self-deprecating. “Fuck, _you're_ my best man, and you're telling me this. Now, of all times. Christ, Ian.”

Ian wants to joke. He wants to dispel this still, icy air between them, wants to say, “well, it could be worse—I could be telling you this right before you're about to wait by the altar for Kalel,” but he does neither of those. After all, no amount of perfume will be able to mask the scent of rotting flesh.

The only way to remove the odor is by cleaning up the place.

Ian bites his lip for a few seconds, thoughtful, before he finally asks, his voice soft and hesitating, “well, when would you have wanted me to tell you?”

Another laugh. It's sad and slightly spiteful, though Ian thinks it isn't meant to spite him, but rather to spite Anthony himself. “I don't know,” he says, truthful. “Before? Before I met Kalel? Before you met Melanie? Fuck, _you're_ the one who broke us up!” Anthony shakes his head, glancing at Ian before looking back out the window. “You don't get to do this. You don't get to break a good thing and beg for me when I've finally moved on. You don't get to dictate all the rules. I won't let you.”

Ian feels like there are needles in his ribcage, feels like with every beat of his heart, the sharp metal sinks in even further, for all the pain that he's feeling. His mouth clamped shut, he focuses on the road.

God, and he's going to have to stay at Anthony and Kalel's apartment, going to have to try and pretend that everything's okay so soon after this explosive conversation. He's going to have to make nice, going to have to shut his eyes and ignore how Anthony and Kalel are lying together in bed just a few feet away from him.

“I'm not trying to,” Ian says softly, feeling just that bit ashamed of himself. He shouldn't have opened his mouth.

Anthony swallows, and in the stillness of the air between them, the sound is louder than it should have been. He thumps his head against the window. Outside, it starts to rain, water falling in small drops. Anthony inhales sharply. “I thought you've moved on.”

Ian chuckles sadly, glances at Anthony from the corner of his eyes. His hands clutch the steering wheel _just_ that bit tighter. “I thought so too,” he says, honest.

Anthony closes his eyes. His head is still leaning against the window. “You thought? That's not good enough, Ian.”

Ian sighs. “I know. I'm sorry.”

Anthony doesn't reply.

The rain falls harder.

_**Twenty Six (Part 3)** _

Ian is ending the longest romantic relationship he's ever had, and yet neither of them are crying. Instead, there is relief bubbling just beneath his skin, and there is Melanie, smiling at him in understanding.

He should be sadder. They both should be, to be perfectly honest, and there should probably be tears. There aren't, though. This is just another testament to the fact that Melanie is too good for him.

“I'm sorry,” he says, and he _does_ mean it. He's sorry that he couldn't be enough for Melanie, sorry that Melanie couldn't be enough for _him_ even though she has been, in a way, more than enough as well at the same time. He's sorry that he's 26 and he still hasn't moved on from his best friend, sorry that Melanie's been put in second place when she shouldn't have been, sorry that he's wasted so much of her time.

The thing is, Ian _could_ see himself loving Melanie, but only in a universe where he hadn't already met Anthony. And that's not _this_ universe.

Melanie nods, still smiling in that sad way she does when she knows there's nothing she can do about something. “I understand,” she says, and Ian knows that she's saying the truth. She leans back and brings her legs up on the couch, sits with her back against the armrest, facing Ian. “I guess, I sort of knew, you know?”

Ian's eyebrows furrow. He does as she did, raising his legs up and planting his feet on the couch, sitting with his back against the armrest. He hugs his knees to his chest, fingers entwined. “What do you mean?”

Melanie shrugs. “You know,” she says, as if Ian has any idea about what she's trying to say, “you. Your thing. I mean, well, I know best friends don't look at their best friends the way you look at Anthony.”

Biting his lip, Ian avoids Melanie's gaze, his eyes running over everything in the room _but_ her. In one corner of the living room, Daisy is on her way to falling asleep, eyelids fluttering shut as she rests her head on her front paws. “I'm sorry,” he finally says after a few more moments of silence. There isn't much he can say. Hell, he doesn't even _know_ what to say.

Melanie shrugs. “It's okay.”

It's not okay. Ian knows she's hurt. She knows this would come eventually, though, so she's not hurting that much.

God, Ian feels even more like a douchebag.

“Please stop saying it's okay,” Ian says, quiet. Removing one hand from his legs, he brings it up and runs his fingers through his hair, his frustration making itself known to the world through that small movement. “God, Melanie, it's anything _but_ okay.”

“What do you want me to do?” Melanie asks, genuinely curious. “Do you want me to shout at you? Be angry?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I'm not.” Melanie shakes her head. “Ian, honestly, I'm good. Well, as good as I can be considering that you just broke up with me.” At this, she gives a sad little laugh. “But, you know, it doesn't hurt as much as I thought it would. Is that bad?”

Ian cracks a smile. “I think so.” He doesn't want to say it out loud, but he's relieved that Melanie is just as clueless as him, that they're both just trying to find their way in the dark. “I thought you would cry, actually,” he admits.

Melanie laughs, throwing her head back. And _oh_ , that's something, isn't it? Her laugh reminds Ian of a time way back when, when Ian had honestly thought he was happy with her. “Right. Do you still want me to cry? I can probably squeeze out a few tears,” Melanie says, a teasing lilt to her voice.

“Fuck you,” Ian says, affectionate.

“Look,” Melanie says, removing her feet from the seat cushions and putting them back down on the ground as she sits back up, “I understand. I guess that all this time, I was just sort of waiting for this.”

Ian inhales deeply and slowly exhales. He sits beside Melanie once more, putting his feet back on the ground, his legs and hers side by side. “I'm sorry, Melanie. I really am.”

Melanie leans her head on Ian's shoulder. “I know.” A deep breath. “I'm guessing this means I'm going to move out.”

“You don't have to.” Ian owes her a lot of things. He's not about to go and kick her out of the house they both picked and worked hard on.

Melanie's hand come up to cover his on his lap. “I know that,” she says. Her hand is warm—it reminds Ian of that time when they were in Paris, their fingers entwined as they walked half-quickly, half-slowly, wanting to enjoy the sights and at the same time wanting to get indoors as quickly as possible. “I want to, though. I think I want to move back to New Jersey,” she says, hushed. “I left so many people there.”

She says it with no contempt in her voice. To her, it's just a simple fact, not something she can hold over Ian's head. She has given up so many things just to be with him here, and now he's ending their relationship. He feels bad, really, feels like he should just take it all back and kiss her and make up, but he knows it won't work. He knows that Melanie deserves someone better than him, knows that Melanie deserves something more than a one-sided relationship.

“You can have the furniture,” Ian says. He doesn't care much about the stuff—he can always buy new ones.

His eyes land on Daisy, peaceful as she sleeps. Ian chews on his lip. Now _she_ will be hard to replace. “You can have Daisy,” he says, and it's painful. God, he's going to miss her.

“Nah, I'm good,” Melanie says, and Ian knows that she would be shaking her head if only she didn't have her head on Ian's shoulder. “I mean, I'm going to move into my parents for a while before I figure out what I'm going to do, so I really don't think I'll have space for the furniture. I would love to take Daisy, but I don't really know if there's space for her at the house.”

It's almost shameful, how relieved Ian feels. After this, Ian doesn't think he'll continue to live here. He'll move, he thinks, and it would be a lot better if he had someone with him in his new place.

“What about you?” Melanie asks, her voice soft. “What do you plan on doing?”

“I want to move too,” he says, honest. “I think it will feel too weird if I continued to stay here without you.”

Melanie hums in understanding. “Space will be good for us.”

Ian agrees. “I think so too.”

Melanie turns her hand over and holds Ian's, their fingers intertwining just like before. “Hey, loser?”

Smiling, Ian asks, “what?”

Melanie squeezes his hand. “Good luck, okay?”

Biting his lip, Ian leans his head on Melanie's. “Thanks,” he says, his voice a little broken. “You, too.”

_**Twenty Seven (Part 1)** _

Kalel and Anthony break up.

Like the proposal, Ian doesn't hear about the entire thing through Anthony. No, he learns about it the same way everyone else has—by watching the video. The video that, apparently, was posted one month after the exact date of the break up.

Ian really shouldn't be bothered that Anthony didn't tell him—after all, Anthony _is_ entitled to have his own life, to have something that's just entirely _his—_ but he is. Right now, as Ian gapes at his laptop screen, his hands are itching to reach for his phone and text Anthony. Something along the lines of “dude, wtf?” will probably do, he thinks.

Guilt starts gnawing on his insides when he realizes that hope is blooming anew in his chest. God, his best friend just broke up with his fiancee and here Ian is, already thinking about getting back together with Anthony.

He is seriously reaching new levels of pathetic.

Sighing, Ian lowers the lid of his laptop and puts it aside.

The move to Los Angeles was a good call. Ian and Melanie still talk to each other, texting one another when they're busy and calling whenever they have the time to do so, and to be honest, Ian likes it better this way. He and Melanie are even more of a better fit as friends, he thinks. Of course, getting to hang out with his best friend outside the office is another bonus—during that time when Ian had been living in Sacramento and Anthony had been living in Los Angeles, Ian had been struck by how much he had taken for granted the amount of time he got to spend with Anthony outside of work.

Daisy, probably sensing Ian's internal distress, pads over to him from the living room, before sitting down on her hind legs once she's in front of Ian and cocking her head to the side. Ian's eyebrows rise as he looks at his dog, an unbidden smile twisting his lips.

Leaning forward, Ian lightly scratches Daisy's head with one hand, his smile becoming gentler, softer.

No matter what happens, he'll still have Daisy.

_**Twenty Seven (Part 2)** _

It's evening, and Ian just opened the door to his house to find Anthony standing on the other side, looking just that bit uncertain. There are creases on his forehead, and his mouth is twisted in an unhappy line, worry shining clear in Anthony's eyes.

Ian blinks. “What's wrong?”

Anthony blinks, as if just now realizing where he actually is, and now that Ian has thought about it, he can see that Anthony looks a bit dazed, like he just mindlessly drove to Ian's house from wherever he was. Once Ian realizes this, the worry he feels curling in his gut becomes that much more intense, and he has to stop himself from putting his hand on Anthony's shoulder and physically bringing him inside the house.

Anthony shakes his head, the wavy hair bouncing with the motion. “Nothing,” he says, and Ian doesn't believe him. “Can I come in?”

Alarm bells start ringing in Ian's head. Anthony never asked before—he just sort of stepped into Ian's house whenever he wanted to. Now, Ian isn't quite sure what to do.

“Uh, sure,” Ian says, stepping back and letting Anthony slowly walk inside, his shoulders hunched and his gaze on the floor. Ian closes the door gently so as not to startle Anthony, taking his time to try and calm himself. He turns back around when he feels like he has more or less calmed down, and watches Anthony as he walks to the living room.

Itching to do _something_ , Ian walks to the kitchen and grabs a glass of water. It's not often for him to see Anthony like this, and so he doesn't quite know what to do.

“Here,” Ian says as he sits beside Anthony on the couch. “Drink some water.”

Anthony accepts the glass of water wordlessly, taking a small sip before putting the glass of water on the coffee table. He takes a deep breath, as if preparing to say something, but then he exhales slowly, apparently having changed his mind. Sighing, he looks at Ian, something Ian can't quite name shining in his eyes.

Ian blinks, and it's in that small action when he realizes what it is that Anthony's trying to communicate to him with his eyes. He's pleading for Ian to understand, Ian realizes, but pleading for Ian to understand _what_ , Ian doesn't quite know.

Ian has never been the one good at communicating between the two of them. The fact that Anthony is finding it hard to say what he's thinking isn't a good sign, and the fact that Anthony wants Ian to understand his wordless pleas is even worse.

Chewing on his lip, Ian looks everywhere _but_ Anthony. Daisy is lying down with her head on her front paws in one corner of the room, brown eyes intent on Anthony. Sensing Ian's gaze on her, she looks at Ian instead and stands up on four paws, tilting her head as if to ask him what's wrong with Anthony.

Ian shrugs at her, before focusing back on Anthony. “Do you want to stay the night here?” Ian asks, because he might not know what Anthony's trying to tell him, but he _does_ know that coming home to an empty apartment is something he would want to lessen experiencing as much as possible. Of course, Anthony has Pip in the same way that Ian has Daisy, but Ian knows that Anthony, being the one who more often craves human companionship, still finds it hard not to have any human being to come home to.

Anthony nods, relief evident on his features, and Ian smiles. At least Anthony looks a little better than before.

“Come on,” Ian says as he stands up, waiting for Anthony to do the same before walking to the guest room.

Having three bedrooms in the house, Ian had gone and designated a guest room even though he wasn't really the sort of person to have a ton of people staying at his home. At the beginning, he didn't really care about what he would do with the extra room—he had already figured out that one room would be converted into an office of sorts—but now, Ian is pretty thankful that he has a guest room, considering just how many times Anthony has stayed over, though the guest room is really less “guest room” and more “Anthony's room”. If Ian were to think really hard about the entire thing, he'll realize that there is a sense of codependency between him and Anthony that he doesn't think anyone else will be able change, regardless of whether or not that person is a future wife or husband, but that's only if he thinks really hard about it. And right now, he's trying not to think hard about it, because it's exactly the kind of thing that will keep him up at night, the kind of thing that will make him think about both past and future at the same time, the kind of thing that will make him remember how Anthony has a few items of clothing in the guest room's closet, because even after all this time, they still haven't figured how to live without the other.

So yeah, he's not going to think about that. Instead, Ian opens the door to the guest room and walks in, watching as Anthony sits down on the bed, one hand coming up to lightly scratch Daisy's head when she jumps onto the bed with him.

“Are you going to be okay?” Ian asks, leaning against the wall.

Anthony looks up from Daisy. He seems... _lost_ , somehow. He nods. “I'll be okay,” he says, soft.

Nodding, Ian pushes himself off the wall and starts to walk to the door, calling Daisy. Hearing him call her name, Daisy immediately jumps off the bed and runs out the door.

“Hey, Ian?”

Ian pauses in the doorway, turning around to look at Anthony. “Yeah?”

Anthony offers him a soft, if slightly wavering, smile. “Thanks.”

Anthony's not just thanking him for the room, he knows, but Ian can't, for the life of him, figure out what exactly it is that Anthony's thanking him for. It's making him feel a little frustrated, but he's careful not to show Anthony the frustration he feels. “No problem,” he says instead, before walking out and closing the door behind him.

The urge to slide down the wall and just sit there is strong, but Ian resists it, walking instead to his own bedroom, where Daisy already is.

_**Twenty Seven (Part 3)** _

Ian is the king of bad decisions. Exhibit A: breaking up with Anthony when he really shouldn't have done so. Exhibit B: staying with Melanie despite knowing from the very beginning that he hadn't really moved on from his past relationship. Exhibit C: Telling Anthony how he felt on the drive back to Anthony and Kalel's apartment where he was going to stay for the night.

Of course, those are just some examples. There are probably more, but Ian doesn't really want to spend time thinking about past mistakes or wallowing in self-pity, as he probably would do if he thought too long and too hard about a certain mistake. The point is not to enumerate all of Ian's bad decisions, and the point is _definitely_ not to make Ian feel bad. The point is to establish that Ian is the king of bad decisions.

Well, except for when Anthony decides to screw up. Because then, _he_ 's the king of bad decisions.

Like now.

“Anthony?” Ian groans, the light suddenly flooding into his bedroom making it very hard for him to see. He raises one hand to shade his eyes a little bit from the light as he squints.

It has got to be at least one in the morning. Ian takes a brief moment to glance at the alarm clock on his nightstand, and his eyes widen when he sees that it's two in the morning.

“Hey,” Anthony says, his voice hushed. “I, uh, I couldn't sleep.”

It sounds like a confession he doesn't want to make, but at the same time, he sounds tired, like all he wants to do is rest for a few hours. Normally, Anthony is the kind of person who seems larger than life, the kind of person who Ian feels is meant for larger and grander things, but now he looks so impossibly small that if Ian were just a stranger passing him by, he would think Anthony was a different person.

Feeling more awake, Ian removes the blanket bunched over his hips and swings his legs to the side, his hands coming up to rub the sleep out of his eyes. Usually, he goes to sleep in just his boxers, but he hadn't been able to do that while knowing that Anthony's sleeping just a couple of feet away from him.

Standing up, Ian glances at the corner of the room where Daisy's still sleeping in her doggie bed. Assured that she's still comfortable, Ian walks to Anthony, one hand coming up to cover his mouth as he yawns.

Anthony's in a faded gray shirt and dark blue boxers. Even while half-asleep, Ian notices the many creases on his shirt—probably from turning over in bed too many times—and the ugly twist of Anthony's mouth, the frustration radiating off him and making its presence known through the ways it knows how to do so.

Ian's not the best person at understanding what people need, but he knows what Anthony's asking him to do even without Anthony telling him what it is. He knows, because they've been through this so many times before, and though they've only done this during the times when they were together, Ian's not so vindictive as to let Anthony suffer through a whole night.

Ian edges past Anthony through the doorway and casually grabs his hand, slowly walking to the guest bedroom to let Anthony move at his own pace. Walking down the lit hallway, Ian's struck by how he can't quite remember when he last held Anthony's hand like this outside of a video shoot, and he takes a moment to try and commit to memory just how warm and soft Anthony's hand is against his, just how right it feels to have Anthony's fingers intertwined with his.

Gently pushing the door open, he leads Anthony into the room the same way Anthony led him into his room that night when they were both seventeen. Ian bites his lip as he lets go of Anthony's hand and closes the door behind Anthony, what little light they had from the hallway being blocked by the door.

In the dark, Ian has to remind himself to breathe evenly, to act like his heart isn't thumping wildly in his chest as he looks at Anthony. Through the little amount of light streaming through the window, Ian can see the want and uncertainty warring on Anthony's features, can see the way Anthony's tense as he forces himself to stay where he is.

They're so close. They're so close that if Ian were feeling particularly masochistic today and leaned just slightly forward, he would be pressing his lips against Anthony's. He feels electricity crackling between them, feels the hair on his arms stand up on end, and he's hit with the realization that even after all these years of not dating each other, the chemistry between them had never truly gone away.

Ian swallows past the painful lump in his throat, and even that is deafening in the silence. He's no longer half-asleep, even though he just woke up. No, this time, he's almost ridiculously aware of every single thing that's happening, aware of the way both of them are just standing there, by the door, as if waiting for the other to make the first move. Though exactly _what_ kind of first move Ian is expecting from Anthony, he doesn't really know.

A terrible feeling bubbles in his gut when Ian realizes that he really doesn't know why Anthony is like this today, why Anthony looks so unlike his usual self. Worry starts creeping up his veins when he thinks that maybe he doesn't really know Anthony at all. The thought sits in his mind like acid, corrosive and lethal, and Ian does his best to forget about it, because he knows that it's one of those things he wouldn't want to think about when it's two in the morning and he's standing merely inches away from Anthony in the dark.

“Come on,” Ian says, his voice quiet, “let's go to sleep.”

Anthony nods, jerky, and Ian watches as Anthony turns in place to start heading towards the bed. He is thoroughly unprepared, though, for Anthony showing a sense of quickness and smoothness Ian didn't know he possessed at two in the morning after a night of no sleep, and even more unprepared for Anthony suddenly taking his face in two hands and pressing his lips against Ian's, a little hard and demanding, urgency running through Anthony's veins.

Ian kisses back. Of course he does. It's two in the morning, and Ian is only human, after all. His lips move against Anthony's, and his hands reach for Anthony's hips, fingers curling into soft skin and hard bone.

This is familiar. Even after all these years, this is familiar, and Ian _knows_ it's familiar because his hands still know where to touch, because his lips still know how to dance. Ian isn't surprised to note that Anthony still feels like home, still feels a little bit like dates in crappy fast food chains and going on long drives toward nowhere in particular, still feels like playing video games at three in the morning with leftover pizza and soda cans for nourishment and shooting videos by themselves using Anthony's shitty old camera. All of these are things Ian misses from before—all of these are things Ian hasn't done in a _really, really long time—_ but these are also things he is still intimately familiar with, things he knows every single detail about even after all this time. And kissing Anthony is like that. Kissing Anthony reminds Ian of nights spent under covers just talking about the things they wouldn't talk to anybody else with in the morning. Kissing Anthony is a kind of familiarity that Ian wishes he could forget, because damn it, he is 27, and life shouldn't have turned out this way.

Ian stops the kiss and backs away, even though his lips are still tingling, even though his hands ache to be on Anthony's body. He backs away, because he knows this is him taking advantage of Anthony, because he knows when he is truly wanted.

He backs away, because he doesn't think he can stand it if Anthony were to only kiss him in the dark, at two in the morning, tucked away from everyone's sight. It's like he's 19 again, and breaking up with Anthony because Anthony wants something else, because Anthony wants _someone_ else.

Ian takes in a shaky breath. His hands curl into fists by his side. He feels empty, feels like coming home to an empty apartment and going to an event with Anthony and Kalel. There is a bitter taste in the back of his throat, and somehow he knows that no amount of swallowing air will get rid of it.

“I, uh.” Ian takes a deep breath and exhales slowly, trying to calm the furious beating of his heart. “I'm sorry. I just can't do this.”

Anthony nods slowly, his lips curling into a soft, sad smile. “Yeah,” he says, laughing to himself in that self-deprecating way Ian hates, “kind of figured that out on my own.”

Ian bites his lip. After a few moments, he sighs. “Let's go to sleep,” he says, and he waits for Anthony to move towards the bed before he starts walking to the other side. They climb into bed in silence, both of them too tired to even talk about what just happened.

For a few moments, they both lie down on their sides, their backs to each other. Now, Ian doesn't think he has any hope of returning to sleep, what with the thoughts racing through his mind at the speed of sound.

After a few more minutes, when Ian's pretty sure that Anthony's on his way to falling asleep, he slowly gets up and out of bed, fully intending to return to his own room and probably stare at his ceiling while he thinks about what the kiss means. He is stopped, however, by Anthony, and really, isn't that how his life usually goes?

“Hey, Ian?” Anthony's voice is a little rough and a little broken, like jagged rocks on the side of the cliff.

“Yeah?”

For a few moments, Anthony doesn't answer. Ian stays where he is.

“I'm sorry.”

Ian shakes his head. “Don't be. There's nothing to be sorry for.”

Anthony releases a shaky breath. “Can you please stay?” he asks, and Ian knows it took a lot out of him to say the words out loud, knows that these are words that belong to those things they would only ever tell each other in the dark, and never to anyone else in the morning.

And of course, like many other things, this is also one of those things Ian is helpless against, because try as he might, whether he's 17 or 27, he's still that same slightly emotionally constipated boy in love with his best friend, and really, there was no chance that he would say _no_.

Ian wordlessly climbs back into bed, this time lying on his side, facing Anthony. There are a million things he wants to tell him, but he keeps his mouth shut. For now, they need to sleep.

When Ian wakes up the next morning, Anthony is gone.

Everything, even the kiss, feels strangely like a dream.

_**Twenty Seven (Part 4)** _

“So, how's life been treating you?”

Ian snorts, one hand reaching for the box of Kung Pao Chicken. “Mel, we text each other all the time. You know everything going on with my life. Well, mostly everything.”

Melanie shrugs as she puts her legs on the coffee table before her, her hand not stopping as she pets Daisy who's lying contentedly beside her on the sofa. “I know, but it just seems like the sort of thing friends say to each other after not having seen one another for a long time.”

“Uhhuh, sure,” Ian says, his focus on the box of rice before him. “What did you say when you saw Mari, again?”

Melanie shrugs, reaching for the box of rice on the coffee table before her, right next to her feet. “I said, 'damn, girl'.” Melanie looks up at Ian, a wide grin on her face. “She has great hair! I had to say something.”

Ian smiles, amused, before grabbing his half-full box of rice and his box of Kung Pao Chicken. He walks to the sofa, absently removing Melanie's feet from the coffee table so he can walk past her and sit beside her on the sofa.

“But how are you, really?” Melanie asks as Ian plops down beside her. She watches as Ian makes sure that Daisy's too content to lie on Melanie's other side to try and reach for his food, watches as Ian, apparently assuaged, rearranges the chopsticks with his fingers.

“I'm good.” Ian continues to look down into his box of rice, trying to figure out how to grab a piece with chopsticks. “Anthony came here a week ago and stayed the night.”

Melanie hums in understanding. “You played games?”

Ian blinks. “Uh. No, actually.” He bites his lip, raising his head and looking at Melanie. “He kissed me.”

Melanie freezes. After a few seconds, apparently having gotten a hold of herself, leans over and puts her box of rice on the coffee table. “What does that mean?” she asks, and though Ian should have expected that she would ask this because she has always been the kind of person who is straight to the point, he doesn't expect it and so he has no answer for her.

“I don't know,” he replies, shaking his head before finally catching a break and managing to get a clump of rice with his chopsticks. “I wish I do, but I don't.”

Melanie blinks, before removing her hand from Daisy's head and leaning forward to grab her own box of rice. “Did you guys have sex?” she asks before shoveling rice into her mouth.

Ian chokes on air. “What? No!” he says, coughing. He thumps one fist against his chest in an effort to make himself feel better. “Jesus, Mel.”

Melanie shrugs. “It seems like the sort of thing you two would do,” she says, casual about the entire thing, as she grabs the box of Kung Pao Chicken on Ian's lap and steals a piece of chicken.

Ian had been with Melanie for six years going on seven, and really, nothing should surprise him about her anymore by now, but he is still surprised. That's Melanie for you, he guesses, unpredictable like sudden warmth on what is supposed to be a rainy day.

“Well, we didn't.”

Melanie stands up, chopsticks in hand. Ian watches as Daisy raises her head lazily, obviously on her way to falling asleep, before dropping her head back on her front paws and closing her eyes, apparently having decided that Melanie was safe and wasn't forcefully taken away from her.

“What happened the day after?” Melanie asks from the dining table where she's grabbing a box of spring rolls.

Ian turns in his seat to look at her. “Nothing. I woke up and he was gone.”

Melanie raises an eyebrow. “That's it? Did you guys talk about it, at least?”

Ian shakes his head in response. Melanie _knows_ that Ian is the absolute worst at communication, so she should have expected his answer.

Apparently, she _did_ , because she rolls her eyes at him in exasperation before bringing her box of rice and spring rolls with her to the sofa. “Ian,” she says, sighing.

“What?” Ian asks, knowing that Melanie's implying that this entire thing is his fault, “he didn't want to talk about it, so I didn't talk about it. Besides, _he_ kissed _me_ , not the other way around.”

Melanie sits beside him and shoots him a _look_. “Ian, if you guys don't talk about this, it will haunt you and your friendship, you know.”

It's a little too much like being 17 again and having to have a reason to talk about issues instead of just talking about them because it would be the right thing to do. A decade later, nothing has really changed.

A decade later, _he_ hasn't really changed.

_**Twenty Seven (Part 5)** _

“I meant it, you know.”

Anthony looks up from his laptop. Behind him, the city lights of Los Angeles can be seen through the glass wall of his apartment, and that, along with the bright stars in the dark sky, makes him seem ethereal, like something that's not entirely meant for this type of universe, like _someone_ who's not entirely meant for Ian.

“What do you mean?” Anthony asks.

They're in Anthony's apartment. Ian is leaning against the kitchen counter while he holds a bottle of water in one hand. His heart is beating wildly in his chest, and he feels ready to vomit. He stays where he is, however, and just keeps minutely squeezing the bottle, letting the condensation wash away the sweat on his palm.

Melanie was right, and so was past-Ian, the Ian who had, in present-Ian's opinion, _bravely_ spoken about his relationship with past-Anthony. Things won't ever really mend between him and Anthony if they don't talk. For all that Ian and Anthony know each other like no other people would know them, it isn't quite enough to repair a rift this big. And though what Ian did on that long drive back to Anthony and Kalel's apartment was talk, it wasn't quite enough, he thinks.

So. Here comes nothing.

Ian bites his lip hard, only releasing it when he thinks he can already taste copper. “I meant it when I said I was still in love with you.”

Anthony freezes in his seat. A painful lump has gathered in Ian's throat, staying there like a metal ball with spikes that pierce Ian's flesh, and it's heavy, and it's blocking the words Ian wants to come out of his mouth quickly.

Ian continues. It hurts, but he continues. “I know it was a really bad time to tell you that, but I'm telling you now, because you need to know. I'm sorry.”

For a few moments, Anthony does nothing but look at Ian with that little lost look in his eyes.

Running his fingers through his hair, Ian starts to pace the floor, needing to _move_. He doesn't think he can stay still, not when Anthony is exactly _that—_ still _._

“I'm sorry I haven't moved on,” he says, because he's 27 and he should have been over Anthony for years now, but he _isn't_ , “and I'm sorry I haven't yet forgotten how to not be so gone for you. I'm sorry I'm not a good best friend. I'm sorry that I told you I loved you when you were getting married to Kalel. I'm sorry that I didn't kiss you back when you kissed me that night, but then I'm not because it was two in the morning, and kissing you meant taking advantage of you.” Ian takes in a deep breath and stops pacing, his lungs burning. He releases a slow, shaky breath, before putting the water bottle on the counter behind him, and running his fingers through his hair once more. “I'm sorry I broke up with you when we were 19, and I'm sorry that I'm even sorry about that, because I shouldn't be. I shouldn't be, because you were too concerned about not having a girlfriend, and I shouldn't have had to put up with that.”

Panting, Ian looks at Anthony. Anthony's still frozen in his seat, as still as a statue. That lost look is back in his eyes, along with a sense of understanding and, confusingly enough, a sense of dread.

“Say something,” Ian almost pleads.

Anthony opens his mouth and closes it again, reminding Ian of a goldfish. He bites his lip, and for a few moments, silence reigns in the room. Ian actually wants to just grab his keys and go, drive to nowhere even though it's nine in the evening and they have work tomorrow. Hell, Ian doesn't even have to drive to nowhere—just getting out of here would be appreciated.

“What is it?” Ian finally asks, impatience winning out as he watches Anthony try yet again to say something.

Ian watches Anthony chew on his lip, thoughtful. “When we were 19,” he finally says after what Ian thinks is a ridiculously long time, “you broke up with me. I didn't know why. I broke up with you when we were 17, and I regretted it, and I came crawling back when we were 18.” Anthony's voice is soft, like these are words he never thought he would actually say, like these are things he never thought would be given the chance to actually become something more than thoughts in his head during sleepless nights. “I was happy with you, you know. I thought you were, too, but apparently not.” Anthony takes a deep breath. From where Ian is standing, he can see Anthony closing his hands into fists in an effort to ground himself. “Sure, I was thinking about what the consequences would be of me dating you instead of dating some girl, but that's normal. That's what we're supposed to do. We're supposed to think about things we might want and figure things out about ourselves. But fuck, Ian, I never wanted to end things with you. You should have talked to me before you ended everything.”

Frustrated, Ian pushes himself off the counter, one hand accidentally knocking over the bottle of water, making it drop to the floor. He grits his teeth, the energy inside him turning into anger, raw and fiery and dangerous. “ _I_ should have talked to you? Maybe _you_ should have talked to me, Anthony,” he says, his voice deathly low.

“I know that now,” Anthony says, and his voice, quiet and unassuming, makes all the anger leave Ian in a dizzying rush. “I'm sorry.”

Hope, something that has proven before to be a double-edged sword, grows in Ian's chest. “So, are we okay? Can we start over?” He asks, and he feels almost giddy, the butterflies in his stomach making him feel lighter than air. He's not the sort of person to say these things, not the sort of person to even have these kinds of discussions, but he thinks it's time for a change.

“I have a girlfriend,” Anthony says hurriedly, as if wanting to rip a Band-Aid quick and easy to minimize the pain, and the bottom drops out of Ian's stomach.

Ian can't speak. Anthony _had_ ripped off that Band-Aid quick and easy, but it feels more like he had slowly separated Ian's skin from his flesh with a rusty pocket knife.

“Oh,” he finally says.

Blood rushes through his ears. Pain starts to radiate from his chest, tiny pinpricks morphing into something he doesn't think he can describe.

“I'm going to go,” Ian says, ignoring both Anthony and the water bottle by his feet, and walking towards the door, opening it and exiting the apartment without waiting for Anthony to say anything. He closes the door behind him gently before walking away in stiff strides.

It's almost funny, he thinks, how the universe seems hell bent on fucking him over. Though of course, it's not funny _at all_. What it is is painful, like having the weight of a million stars on his shoulders, like having needles run through his veins instead of blood.

It hurts. Oh God, it hurts.

_**Twenty Seven (Part 6)** _

Timing has never been on their side.

Chemistry—sure. They have that in _spades_ , present in every searing kiss and electrifying touch, in every breathy whisper pressed against sweat-slicked skin as they make love in the dark. Sometimes, Ian thinks he can _drown_ in it, in the heat present between the two of them no matter when or where, in the magnetizing waves that seem to push them closer and closer to each other. There is so much chemistry present in the history of their friendship and, ultimately, their on-again, off-again relationship, that sometimes Ian feels like the heat that envelops them both will eventually burn them both until there is nothing left but dust and ashes.

So yeah, chemistry has never been a problem. But the timing—oh. It has always been the problem with the two of them.

And really, don’t people say that timing is everything?

“Hey, Ian?”

Ian looks up from the menu he's looking at. They're in a bakery, this time, not a restaurant, though that doesn't exactly make Ian feel better.

Anthony smiles at him, but there's sadness in his eyes. “I'd like you to meet my girlfriend, Miel.”

It's easy. It's so ridiculously easy to have his lips curl into a smile no matter how far he feels from being happy about the entire thing. He stands up, looks at the beautiful girl shyly standing beside Anthony, and offers his hand for a handshake. “Nice to meet you, Miel. You treat him right, okay?” he says, and though Miel laughs, Ian and Anthony don't. They don't, because they know things she doesn't know yet. They don't, because they both know that Ian means it.

“Treat him right, because I made the mistake of not doing so,” he wants to say, but he doesn't do so. Instead, he sits down and watches them sit down opposite him. He keeps quiet. He's not going to ruin this for Anthony. Not anymore. And unlike before, unlike that time when he had dinner with Kalel and Anthony and hadn't really talked to her, he starts the conversation now.

“So, what do you guys want to order?”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t own Smosh. I don’t make money from this.


End file.
